Max's Eyes
by pillow.case.feather
Summary: The aftermath of closing the gate, Snow Ball and a reconciliation with Eleven, all from Max's point of view. One-shot.


Max was awake.

Her blue eyes were tired and dull, and her skin held little colour. She felt like shit, and she was undeniably exhausted, but she was awake.

The past 24 hours had felt like a year, it had been one of those times that just stops and stays for a while, one of those moments that steps back and lets you think before carrying on. It showed on her face, the way her mouth pulled down in tired blankness and her freckles seemed less lively than before. Everyone looked older, something lying deep behind their sleeping eyes, tear-tracks on their cheeks.

Nancy looked about thirty-five, her mouth parted carelessly as she slept, her hand resting on Jonathan's stomach, which rose and fell with each ragged breath he took. Joyce was frowning, her wrinkles accentuated under the dark light of early morning. She was positioned protectively beside Will, whose bowl-cut was splayed out on the pillow beneath his head. Dark, bruise-like shadows were beneath his eyes and his skin held a greyish quality, like he'd been standing in a smoke cloud. His mouth was a grim line. Max could only imagine what he was dreaming about.

The only person who looked any younger was Eleven, and that was solely because her panda makeup had been rubbed from her eyes, and her hair had lost some of its greasy-looking product. Now she had brown curls and fresh face, her lips pink. Her black blazer had been replaced by a huge argyle jumper that stretched past her hands and enveloped her in a woollen cocoon. She looked tired, but she looked peaceful, too. Youthful and angelic. Mike and Hopper were not far off.

She looked around the room at these people, the trauma held in the air. They had been through so much together, and now they were bundled up into one tiny living room for some much-needed sleep. You couldn't roll over without knocking into someone, but nobody minded, they were just happy to be alive. To be safe. They were a family.

They'd protected her, and she'd protected them. There was no going back from that.

She hadn't found the whole supernatural thing as weird as she thought she would. She hadn't freaked out and gone running, or screamed her head off in a panic. Maybe it was because everyone else had approached the situation with businesslike familiarity, or because Lucas had told her the story before she believed it. It had been mulling over in her head since she walked out of that arcade.

Lucas himself looked much older when he slept, eyebrows dark and angry-looking, his face sharper and more defined against the softness of his pillow. Dustin looked a million times younger, snuggled into his sleeping bag like a toddler.

They were a family.

Max suddenly felt out of her depth, and outsider as she looked at all these sleeping faces. Half of them probably didn't know her name. Eleven, this integral, influential part of the Party, had brushed past her when Max had offered her friendship. If Eleven didn't like her, then she knew her relationship with these people would be strained. Mike worshipped the ground Eleven walked on, and Dustin and Lucas talked about her with shining eyes and unmatched excitement. The words 'awesome' or 'incredible' were always thrown around when the conversation turned to El.

And she _was_ awesome and incredible, which just made it even worse. She wanted to be friends with El so badly. She was loyal, and sweet (to everyone else) and she held this fierce determination on her face that made you think she was unstoppable, that she had overcome so much. Which she had.

Max didn't feel like she quite… _fit_ into all of this. Like the puzzle was complete and she just a spare piece. It was like Mike had said- they already had their party, their was no such thing as a Zoomer. They had all lived in this town for years, seen each other around since they were just little kids. They had _history,_ they knew everything about each other. She was just a newcomer, could never be as unbelievable as El, or as funny as Dustin or as sweet as Will or as important as Mike or as perfect as Lucas. She didn't fit. Not with them, not with Joyce or Nancy or Jonathan or anybody else. She had heard Steve call her a 'random chick' at the junkyard, and it just summed her up perfectly. She didn't play any part in this group. They didn't need her.

All they talked about for the next week was what had happened. The guys would relay their own accounts to each other, checking for any differences, anything the others had missed. They would smack each other on the arm and tell them they were great in some specific instance.

Max couldn't help feeling honoured when _Mike_ of all people complimented her driving skills. She brushed it off with a smug smile of _i-told-you-so_ , but secretly she was overjoyed. Mike had been a lot nicer to her recently. Well, not _nice,_ but civil. He wasn't openly against her like he was before. She knew it was because El was back. He was nicer to everyone now. The guys told her he was back to normal. They told her Will was, too. He was still quiet, but not as silent and worried, his big brown eyes weren't wide with fear whenever someone moved too quickly.

Billy left her alone. He still gave her dirty looks and told her not to be late or she was skating home, but that was it. No yelling, no threats, he would touch the subject of her friends with a ten-foot pole. He seemed slightly embarrassed about the whole situation, and that just made her smug. She had scared of Big Bully Billy, her older brother who thought he was the shit. Now she just had to scare his dad away from her mom and everything would be perfect.

She played her first game of D&D a week later. It wasn't as amazing as the guys made it out to be, but it wasn't too awful, either. They seemed happy to have her, and they blurted the rules to her too fast and with undying enthusiasm. Lucas and Dustin fought over how best to explain the rules, both giving each other little smart-ass comments. Mike looked bored by their antics, but Will looked amused as he sat beside her, quietly explaining what she had to do much better than anyone else had.

There was a lot of yelling, and an ungodly amount of snack breaks (Dustin) and it lasted for hours and hours even though it was kind of a boring game, but she was happy. They talked to her about it liked they would to each other and, even though she didn't always understand the weird words they were throwing out there, they were treating her exactly the same. She felt like she belonged. She'd won over the guys, now she just had to win over Eleven.

The last week of the semester, all she heard people talking about was the SnowBall. Girls would whisper their outfit ideas to each other i in hushed tones, and boys would discuss who they were gonna ask, who they would dance with.

Max didn't really see the appeal of shuffling along awkwardly while teachers and parents chaperoned with hawk-like gazes. She thought it was a waste of time, an overhyped waste of time, but she was going anyway. It would be fun, not for the dancing or the punch or the girls with overdone hair judging each other behind cupped hands, but because she'd be hanging out with friends.

Last day of school, she didn't rush home to get ready like everyone else. She knew her mother would try and persuade her to wear a dress again.

Her mom appeared as soon as she walked through the door, face bright with excitement.

"Max, sweetie!", she smiled, "you're home".

Her red hair, only a shade blonder than Max's, seemed to glow like a halo in the kitchen light. Her mother always looked warm and welcoming, her voice soft and eyes kind. She used to look bright and young, happy, but now she looked older, and she seemed to constantly be wringing her hands with worry.

"Hey mom", Max said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes. She wasn't usually this upbeat.

"You excited for the-"

"NO!", Max interrupted loudly. Her face reddened when she saw her mom's confused expression. "Sorry, i thought you were going to try make me wear a dress again".

Her mom sighed.

"No, sweetie. Not if you don't want to. But… can i at least do your hair?"

"Mom!", Max groaned.

Herself and her mother were very different. Her mom was soft and sweet. She was graceful and elegant, with good posture and a small smile always on her lips. She was the kind of woman you could imagine flying directly from a painting of Botticelli angels, wings outstretched. She was a woman who smelt of gingerbread and home, whose cheeks were soft and powdery when you hugged her. She was gentle, whereas Max was...not. Max liked video games and skateboard, and she smelt of bicycle grease and slushies. Her hair was unruly and tangled, and she preferred to sit slouched and angry than straight-backed and smiling. It would be a far stretch to describe any part of Max's personality as soft. You could imagine her more easily springing from Dante's inferno, red hair blazing.

Although they were very different, they were still close. Max's mom was always caring, and she always supported anything her daughter did, even if she herself would never dream of it. She didn't understand Max's love of Dig Dug, or her constant skating, or her preference for jeans over skirts, but she still loved her daughter. More than anything in the world.

"Alright, alright!", her mom said gently as Max pushed past her to the kitchen, grabbing some bread from one of the top cupboards. Her mother hovered uncertainly in the doorway. Max loved her mom too, but sometimes she found her so unbelievably infuriating.

"How was school?"

"Fine"

"Were your teacher's nice?"

"Yeah"

Not really. Mrs Horowitz had given her extra homework to do over the holidays, citing that Max needed to 'catch up on some Algebra knowledge'. There was no fucking way she was wasting her Christmas break making letters into numbers. And then Mr Thompson had yelled at her in English for daydreaming, which is basically what you're supposed to do _anyway,_ so she didn't really get what the big deal was.

"And your friends?"

" _Yes_ "

That was true. Her friends were always nice, even when they were yelling at each other over some stupid thing, or punching each other in the arms. She had already adopted that habit from them. She almost punched Billy in the arm when he said something especially stupid. That would _not_ have ended well. Her friends were always nice, and that's why she wished she had more lessons with them. In Science they sat way in the front, always piping up about something or other. _Nerds._

"What was that one Billy was talking about the other day?"

She froze. If Billy was saying something, it was probably bad. Really bad. He had stopped being _so_ awful after the incident at the Byers' house, but he was still her least favourite person. By a long way. She would not stand for him talking shit about one of her friends.

The toast popped, pulling her out of her thoughts and making her start. She placed it on a plate, waiting cautiously for what her mother was about to say. She was tense, ready to jump to her friends' defense if the need arose.

"Was it… L-Luke…?"

Max's heart sank. It was going to be something really, really bad. She didn't understand Billy's hatred for the boy when he was _so_...not that bad. Maybe that's why Billy didn't like him, he probably didn't like her having nice people to hang out with.

"Lucas?", she said shakily, trying to sound normal.

Although she'd never admit it to anyone, not even herself, Lucas was her favourite. He truly accepted her into their party, and he'd trusted her enough to tell her about El. He'd shared their adventure with her, and he had been so impressed when she stabbed Billy with that sedative. She'd ridden on the back of his bike and, for some strange reason, she trusted him enough to tell him about her parents, about her family. He always smiled at her when the boys would talk about some past event, so she wouldn't feel left out.

"That's the one!", her mom smiled. Max was still braced for the worst as she buttered her toast. "Billy said he was a nice boy"

He was a nice boy. A very nice boy. And he had really nice eyes…

"Is he your boyfriend?"

Max's eye widened, and she whirled around to face her mother, who was grinning in a teasing way. She tried to make her expression neutral.

"What? No, of course not", she said as smoothly as she could. She turned back to her toast, taking a bite. She hoped her mother didn't see her blushing.

Wait.

Billy said he was a nice boy?! What? That was the most un-Billy thing he could possibly say. She was suddenly in a panic, trying to think of some ulterior motive for him saying that, some horrible double meaning or secret message. But nothing came up. She couldn't think of any reason he would say that.

"Okay", her mom said in a sing-song voice, still teasing. Max stiffened. She _had_ just been thinking about his eyes…

"Stop buttering that toast and go and put your clothes on. I want to see what you're wearing!"

"Um, actually mom, i was kind of thinking i'd just wear this", Max said quietly. She knew this would cause an outrage.

Sure enough, an argument ensued, her mom saying that this was her first dance here and she had to make a good impression, and that Max couldn't possibly wear her normal clothes to a _formal_ event. So Max argued back about lame middle school dances and how she didn't care about first impressions or any impressions _at all,_ for that matter.

Her mom won, persuading Max into her best pair of jeans and nice shirt.

"Mom", Max said quietly as her mother crooned over her outfit. "You know i… wouldn't mind _that_ much if you wanted to do my hair… maybe". She shuffled her feet, feeling like she was betraying herself. Her mom looked pleasantly surprised, and beamed at her daughter brightly.

"Of course, sweetie. I'd love to!", she ushered Max into her own room, seating her in front of the vanity. She took Max's fiery hair in her gentle hands, bouncing it up and down. "I told you you'd want to look pretty for the dance", she said.

Max huffed and rolled her eyes, even though it was true. She felt pretty as she looked in the mirror, her shirt bringing out her eyes. It was nice, feeling pretty. She felt stronger, somehow, prouder. Even though she didn't really care about things like clothes and hair and makeup, this whole process had been… not horrifying. She didn't feel like a different person, but she didn't feel the same either. She ran her hand over her nice trousers, and he felt good, like a heightened version of herself. But when she saw her mom weaving her hair into a plait, she frowned. She frowned harder when she pulled a little too hard.

"Ow, mom!", she complained, clutching her scalp.

"You're going to look so pretty, sweetheart", her mom said excitedly, ignoring her daughter's wails entirely. Max pursed her lips in uncertainty, but the plait that was forming framed her face quite nicely. She patted it, still slightly unsure.

Her mom finished, making quick work of Max's silky hair. Max had wanted to bolt immediately, but her mother clipped in a little hair grip, proceeding to brush Max's long, long hair like she was five years old again. Max rolled her eyes, but the soft strokes were soothing, so she didn't protest too much. Her mother was quiet for a while, just gently brushing and brushing and brushing. The barrette glinted in the light, winking at Max in the mirror.

"I used to do this all the time when you were little", her mom started quietly. "You always had such beautiful hair. People used to comment on it all the time. It's like your grandma's, same colour, same feel. My hair was always frizzy and coarse, not like yours. Yours is lovely".

Her mom stopped brushing and placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders. She leant down so they were both looking in the mirror. They looked so similar in that moment, same small smiles, same cornflower blue eyes.

"You look beautiful"

Max smiled at that, and instead of batting away her mother's quick squeeze, she hugged her back, grateful. She liked the hair, and the outfit. She was glad her mom didn't try and force her to put on some makeup. That would've been awful.

It was the kind of moment that lingers for a bit more than a moment, the kind that waits for a while, lets you enjoy, and then shuffles along just as before. They were quiet, and smiled at each other in the mirror. Then her mom squealed and grinned, and the moment passed.

"Come on, sweetie! We don't want you to be late to your first dance!", she said, rushing out of the bedroom. Max followed her, trying to ignore the butterflies that had suddenly begun to flutter around her stomach. Why was she so nervous? She'd just be hanging out with friends. It wasn't like she had to dance with anyone. But maybe, just maybe, she _wanted_ to dance with someone. Maybe. She chewed her lip with sudden worry, feelling like this was suddenly a bad idea. It was just a lame middle school dance, so why was she feeling so sick?

"Max?", her mom called expectantly from the front room. Max was pulled out of her reverie, and went uneasily from the room.

The dance was as sickening as she expected. All white and blue and stuffed with more tinsel than she thought existed. It was an unwelcome change from the usual gym, which was a place where she felt a _lot_ more comfortable.

Everyone was dancing awkwardly, swaying self-consciously to the music in small clusters. Some people were holding cups of punch, sipping them absent-mindedly. She spotted Nancy by the punch bowl, smiling to the kids, and Jonathan taking cheesy photos.

She stifled the panic in her stomach and marched up to her friends, who were seated miserably around a white table. Mike looked bored, Lucas looked slightly disgusted, and Will just looked nervous, sitting quietly at the back. They were all staring at the dance floor, watching people dance embarrassingly. There were little pairs of boys and girls standing near the bleachers, not looking at each other, rocking back and forth on their heels and reaching for some form of conversation.

"Hey, losers", she greeted them, slumping down beside Lucas on a white chair. Will waved slightly, Mike nodded in acknowledgement, and Lucas grinned at her. His grin faltered to a smile. He didn't want to seem _too_ happy to see her.

"Hey Max", he said casually, glancing back to the shuffling dancers.

"You look really nice", Will said kindly. His knee was bouncing up and down. Mike rested his face on his palm so his cheek was all squished. He looked undeniably bored.

"Thank, Byers. So do you", she said genuinely. He was wearing a nice suit, actually. She wasn't just being polite. There was a moment of silence, none of them really knowing where to continue from here. It was just such a weird setting. Luckily, Mike's eyes widened in shock.

"Holy shit, what happened to you?", he asked suddenly. They all turned to see the confused form of Dustin, who appeared to be coming out of an extremely triumphant pose. They all circled him, because there appeared to be something very strange on his head.

"Wha- whadda ya mean 'what happened?', what?", he said, panicking.

"Dude, your hair"

Dustin's hand reached instinctively for his carefully coiffed mop of brown curls.

"Is there a bird nesting in there?", Lucas said, reaching out to pat the top of Dustin's hair. It was almost rock solid, held in place by what felt like ten cans of hairspray. Little did he know it was only four puffs of Farrah Fawcett spray. That stuff had _hold._ Dustin almost seemed to cradle his curls in defense. He frowned at his friends.

"What? No! There's no bird nesting in here, assholes", he glared. Max smirked. "Okay? I worked hard", he whined. No one pointed out that the only reason you could tell was because no one's hair naturally looked like a meticulously arranged helmet. It looked like he'd carved a wig from shiny plastic and just stuck it on his head.

Dustin stopped stroking, and his face fell to one of dread. A slow song had come on, _Every Breath You Take_ by _Police,_ the creepy but extremely popular ballad that was _the_ slow song of the year. Max wouldn't like to admit it, but she was secretly one of the thousands who loved the song.

The shuffling of the dance floor was suddenly done in twos, with people stiffly putting arms around waists and necks, about a foot of space between them. The bright lights suddenly seemed much more noticeable. Lucas glanced at the dance floor, and then at Max, who was still regarded Dustin's hair with her brows knitted together.

"Max, hey", Lucas said quietly.

She looked at him, her attention snagged. He glanced at his shoes, and she felt a hope building up inside her. He was going to ask her to dance, he was going to ask her to dance, oh my God, he was going to ask her to dance.

"Um, It's nice, right?", he began nervously. She felt an inevitable smile creep up her face, because _Lucas Sinclair_ was going to ask _her_ to dance. Plain old Max. Well, she hoped he did, anyway. She wanted him to ask her, the thought of dancing with him, to _this_ song, made her feel all fuzzy, like an electric current was sizzling at her fingertips. "You want to, um, you want to like… you know", he continued, all nervous and awkward. Suddenly _she_ was nervous and awkward, because she hadn't realised how much she liked him until now. How lovely his eyes were, how graceful the slope of his jaw was. He was her favourite, unquestionably, and his adorable awkwardness only made her like him even more. "Like, just you and me?"

He said it from beneath his eyelashes, and she felt her heartbeat catch. He'd really done it. He'd really asked her to dance, and she found herself wanting to jump up and down with glee. The electric current in her fingertips had turned to fire, but she needed to play it cool. Brush it off like he hadn't just made her incredibly happy.

"Are you asking me to dance, Stalker?", she said to him in a light-hearted tone. He straightened.

"No, of course not", he squirmed "...unless you want to?"

She tried not to grin at him, not to burst with joy. She rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. Of course she wanted to dance with him, she'd be a fool not to. Especially when he'd asked her so sweetly, and his suit jacket looked really, really good…

"So smooth", she chuckled.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the dance floor, throwing his arms around his neck without fear or awkwardness. She was good at that, hiding her nerves. Living with Billy can really teach a girl not to show signs of fear. She looked calm and collected, almost superior, as he cautiously put his hands to her waist, but inside she was shaking, the flames at her fingertips transforming to fireworks as they slowly moved to the music. Swaying back and forth, a gentle rhythm to the soft voice of _Police_ floating from the speakers. She felt like everybody else at that moment, shuffling along to the latest song at a lame middle school dance, but there was no awkwardness between her and Lucas, no hanging sense of 'what do we do?' She just looked at him, and he looked at her, and they danced together. She knew him. She'd told him things she hadn't told anybody, and she trusted him more than any of the guys. More than all of them put together.

She could tell by the way he was looking at her- maybe it was just wishful thinking- that he trusted her, too, that he would tell her things he would never dream of telling anyone else. He had her back, and she hoped he knew she had his. She was so grateful that he took a chance on her, that he told her, so incredibly grateful to be included in this group of friends, friends she knew were special, who she could never find the likes of if she tried.

So she kissed him.

She pressed her lips against his one quick movement, just as the swell of the chorus began. She wasn't good with words, and she knew she could never tell him how much he meant to her, how much _all this_ meant to her. She could never tell him how she felt when she hopped on the back of his bike, or how her heart flipped when she saw him. She held his hand on the bus, when she terrified, because he had her back, and she had his, and she could feel his fear between their hands and it only made her stronger.

She kissed him because she liked him, more than she like Dustin or Will or Mike. More thans he liked anyone. He was the only person she knew who looked good under disco lights. He was the only person who would smile at her every now and then. He wasn't afraid of her, not in the least, in fact, it was the opposite. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, because she was brazen and fearless, and she held this look in her blue, blue eyes that he could not put his finger on. They didn't know each other, not really. He didn't know her favourite colour, and she didn't know how many siblings he had. They didn't talk about things like that, they talked about adventures and other lives and civilisations far from their own. They argued often, but it was always playful. She knew how hard he tried to look so effortless, and he knew it came easily to her, but only because she had to hide the cracks beneath the surface.

He's looked surprised when she'd kissed him, but after she did, a slow-moving grin spread across his face. She saw a hint of blush in his cheeks, but she just smiled.

* * *

She approached Eleven cautiously, like she was afraid of startling her. She didn't know what she was supposed to say to her, or whether or not the girl would telekinetically dump a cup of punch in her face. She was regarding the drink with acute interest, swirling the ladle in the colourful liquid so little slices of fruit got trapped in a whirlpool. Nancy was with Mike, talking about something or other. It was probably the only time that evening she would get Eleven alone, and it would likely be months before she saw her again. She had to make friends, now or never.

Eleven looked very different from when Max first met her, and that made it easier and harder all at the same time. She looked less visibly like a badass, for one. The dark smudges where gone from her eyes, and the heavy black blazer. The looming threat of interdimensional monsters and the sense of time running out didn't hang in the air. El looked less threatening, less like some kind of punk from Hawkins' local gang, she looked normal.

But that was where the problem lay. Max could relate to her a _lot_ less now that she was wearing a poofy blue dress, and had pink eyeshadow on her lids. She looked pretty, really pretty, but she looked very different from Max. She seemed like she'd be more comfortable hanging out with Stacey and her flouncy flock of friends. Max didn't like them, but she liked El and, she hated to admit it, she wanted a girl friend, someone a bit closer to her world than a bunch of D&D obsessed boys. There were things that they couldn't teach Eleven, things that they wouldn't understand, but Max would.

The quiet girl regarded Max with wide, doe eyes, innocent and naive. She looked surprised, but she didn't look happy. She didn't look particularly upset, either, just… El.

"Hey, Eleven", Max said as nicely as she could muster. Elven almost looked suspicious.

"Hi Max", she said quietly after a moment, like she had to think very hard about what she was going to say.

"You look really pretty", Max blurted next, partly because it was true, and partly because she knew Eleven would appreciate it. Luckily, her brown eyes brightened, but her expression stayed the same. She smoothed her dress, almost proudly, and looked around. There was a much longer pause, in which Max was thinking of something else to say.

"You look pretty, too", Eleven said, her voice barely above a whisper. Max didn't see the flash of envy in El's eyes, and she couldn't help but smile at the almost regretful compliment. She wasn't just being polite, and Max felt honoured.

"Thanks. You like the dance?"

"Yes"

Max smiled a little too brightly, and Eleven just blinked at her. Neither of them knew where to go from here, and El's eyes were straying to where Mike stood opposite his sister. He would be back soon. Max had to act faster.

It was strange, really, that El was so against her because, as far as Max knew, she had no reason to be. When she met the boys, they just… clicked, Max couldn't figure out why it wasn't the same with the two girls, why her and Eleven couldn't just _be_ friends.

"Eleven…?", Max started. She wanted to say something, because she was starting to feel awkward. El turned her attention to Max, but didn't say anything. She didn't really say much, to be honest.

"I, um…", why was she trying to be coy about this? Eleven was perfectly sensible, Max might as well be as blunt as possible. "What's your problem with me?", she asked, the words coming out harsher than she wanted them to. El blinked again, but this time she looked slightly surprised. There was a long pause, but Max could tell Eleven would answer, she was just _thinking._ Gathering the right words, the best words to express her thoughts. She could almost see the cogs whirring in the other girl's brain.

But instead of talking, Eleven reached out, gently, and touched a stray curl of Max's red hair. It was soft from all her mother's brushing, and El thought it was beautiful.

"Pretty", El said in a hushed whisper. Max raised an eyebrow.

"Um, thanks"

El thought Max was very pretty. Her blue eyes were clearer and brighter than anyone else's, and she could ride around on that board with wheels. El didn't know anyone else who could do that, or anyone else who could teach the boys new words. _Her_ boys, who were the smartest people El knew. Max didn't have to think about what she had to say to get the right words. She didn't have to think about how she walked or looked or talked because she was normal, and although people had told her a million times that she was special, and special was good, Eleven wanted to be normal. She looked at Max like the girl she should've been, the girl she _should_ be- brazen and beautiful and clever. Max knew a lot more than El, about everything, and for some reason it felt much worse than with the boys. Maybe it was because El knew more about social standing now, or about schools and life and fitting into society. It made it harder. Much harder.

Max hadn't realised that what Eleven had said was part of her answer, and she had brushed it off. She was waiting, hand on her hips. She didn't mean to look threatening, but she did. Eleven felt very small next to Max, insignificant. Little did she know that Max felt the exact same way.

"...smart", she whispered. She realised she would need a lot of words to get her feeling across, and that made her brows stitch together in concentration. She wanted to tell Max, because maybe that would make the feeling of unimportance go away. Maybe, if they were friends, Max would tell her things that the boys couldn't, and teach her how to ride on that little board with wheels. She'd like that.

"You… you _know_ things. And you're brave. You helped me, and you didn't know me. And you were nice when i was mean, because i was…", she paused, both looking for the right word and being embarrassed to say it. She knew what it meant, and it was the kind of feeling a person should be ashamed of.

"...jealous. You're not a, a _weirdo_ , and you have pretty hair and you can do so many thing i can't", she blurted, the words spilling out in a long string.

Max blinked at her, completely floored. She was not expecting that, the emotion Eleven had put into the words, or her choice. _Brave, smart and pretty?_ Those weren't the words that Max would use to describe herself, and she felt honoured that they were given by Eleven, who seemed to be the embodiment of those three things.

Eleven looked Max in the face, even though the other girl's eyes were looking around in confusion.

"That… that's just… not true. You're _Eleven,_ you can move things with your freaking _mind_ and the guys all love you so, so much. Everyone loves you, El, because you're just… sweet, well not to me, but you're charming, and you're interesting. You're not a weirdo, and even if you were nobody would give a shit because you're _Eleven._ You're smarter than all of us put together, and you're even braver. The bravest. And you're pretty, really pretty. Not that that matters. People look at you like you hung the stars…"

Eleven's brown doe eyes widened, and a tiny, slow-moving smile spread across her face, because what Max had just said to her was one of the nicest things that a person could say. She'd called her _interesting_ and _charming_ and _the bravest_. She said she wasn't a weirdo, and she'd said it with pure honesty. Eleven felt happy, almost as happy as she had been when she kissed Mike. She felt like what Max had said was an invitation, a pass into the real world. Max had said nicer things than Eleven could think of, and she hadn't just shot down any queries, but she'd built El up. Her smile widened, but then it fell, because she remembered how mean she had been.

"I'm sorry i was mean", she said quietly. "When we met and… in the school".

Max's eyes widened in realisation.

"That was you?!"

El nodded in embarrassment.

"Huh", Max said, "i should've known. I never just fall off my skateboard on my own"

"Skateboard?", El's voice was raised in question, her eyebrows raised slightly and her voice soft, tinged with curiosity.

"Yeah, skateboard. That little thing with wheels. It's like a bike but smaller… and flat… and it has four wheels…. Okay, it's basically nothing like a bike"

El smiled again. The way Max's face had grown more and more confused was funny.

"Skateboard", El said again, this time making a mental note. Max nodded.

"I can teach you some time, if you want", she said casually. In reality, she really, really wanted Eleven to say yes, because that would basically mean they were friends… right?

"Yes", El said eagerly, standing up a bit straighter. Max wanted to jump up and down and dance, but she settled for a grin.

"Cool. So… we're good?", she asked, trying to confirm some sort of sign that she and Eleven would at least be friendly. El's eyebrows furrowed again, she hadn't understand that word in this context. Of course they were good.

"Um, are we, you know, friends?", Max asked. She looked hopeful. Eleven only nodded, but she was smiling. She noted the way she felt all nice and fluffy. That meant that she couldn't lie, and Max couldn't either. That meant they'd look out for each other, that they'd share their snacks and comics and whatever the boys had said. Making new friends felt much nicer than she remembered. El remembered to do it more often, especially if it was as easy as that. She already wished she'd made friends with Max sooner.

Mike returned and took Eleven's hand. They grinned at each other in this goofy way, eyes shining. Max wanted to roll her eyes, but she had to admit it was sweet. This wasn't just some middle school crush. It couldn't be, because El probably didn't even know what a crush was. All she knew was that she liked Mike best, and they were _more than friends._ They both smiled at Max before returning to the dance floor.

She went to brag to Lucas that she'd made friends with El without any of his help. She knew she wouldn't need it.


End file.
